everyone around him dies

Part 3

Some people really can't take a hint.

Despite every opportunity provided upon them to make it apparent that the current trajectory of their life would only end in disaster, certain individuals preferred under the misguided notion that they can proceed as is with little to no consequence.

In this very specific way, Cale was quite similar to his uncle. They were both stubborn to a fault in peculiar ways that would only lead to tragedy.

Cale had been explicit.

No harm was to come to Roksu.

The old man could drink and gamble and scream his fool head off. He could steal all of their money and food, he could even berate them for being born at all. Cale could tolerate it and he could cover Roksu's ears. They could make more money. They could find more food. They could turn off their ears to his voice.

Their wretched uncle was even allowed just a bit of violence, so long as the target was exclusively Cale. Cale knew how to take a punch and he knew better how to exhaust an opponent who was bigger and stronger than him. How many bar fights had he survived as Cale Henituse without ever having to fight back at all?

It wasn't an arrangement that Roksu was happy with but Roksu was a child. He didn't understand that sometimes one has to accept the unacceptable in order to protect the future. Cale could handle it.

He could also handle the way items dropped from high places in an attempt to end his short life early and how the world itself attempted to scrub him out of existence the closer he got to his younger brother.

There was just one line that couldn't be crossed.

Cale had only left for a few minutes. It ought to have been safe. Their uncle was away drinking, again, and Roksu was feeling under the weather so he'd gone to the corner store to pick up some medicine.

Cale had no words for the sight he returned to.

He saw red.

Red like the fires that consumed his family. Red like the sky after he was made to be alone. Red like the blood of an enemy soldier's blood trailing down his blade. Red like his mothers hair as she faded away.

Red.

There was simply one line that the disgusting monster wasn't allowed to cross. But some people will not heed any warning and act on their own horrific impulses, disgusting and revolting–some people do not appreciate an opportunity when it has been provided to them.

The opportunity here was to live.

Cale was a soldier. One who had lived for twenty years fighting an endless war against an opponent who was vastly superior to them in strength. He was used to twisting his mind into knots that were grotesque and vicious.

In the nearly two years that the small malnourished children had lived under their uncle's care, Cale had considered one question over and over with great seriousness.

Should the bastard ever cross the line, how could he with the strength of a child defeat him?

The answer was very simple.

He needed to die. And quick enough that he wouldn't be able to fight back. Maiming him in any way wouldn't be enough–all it would take was one strike to the right spot with all of the monstrous old man's considerable strength and it would be game over for Cale.

However murder had consenquences and those consenquences would take Cale away from his defenseless baby brother and thus, it was a solution that was only to be considered with absolutely no other choice available.